


Up from the Ashes

by giantflyingskelesnurtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dudley/OC, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantflyingskelesnurtle/pseuds/giantflyingskelesnurtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no one on Earth that Dudley Dursley hates more than himself. But he's determined that he's going to change into someone he can be proud of - and maybe, with the help of Clarence Oswald, a sexy wizard librarian he may or may not be in love with, he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic resulted from a conversation that my friend and I had once. We were wondering what Dudley would be getting up to after the battle of Hogwarts, and we came up with this version of his post-series life. Naturally I just had to write it. I hope you enjoy!

_For every big mistake you make, be grateful – that mistake you’ll never make again._  
Every shiny dream that fades and dies generates the steam for two more tries.  
There’s magic in the wake of a fiasco – it gives you that chance to second-guess.  
Then up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success.

•

He was possibly more nervous than he’d ever been in his life, and he hadn’t even reached the counter yet.

The book was clenched in his sweaty palms as if it might sprout wings and fly away, which – given the fact that he’d seen far stranger things in his days – it honestly might. His other hand was clenched into a fist, opening and closing in a pattern that nearly matched the elevated beating of his heart.

One more person in line, and then it would be his turn.

Jesus Christ, what if he botched it up? What if they didn’t allow him to go through with it? What if there was some sort of unspoken etiquette that he would be expected to stick to? There were so many bloody what-if’s running through his brain, he almost didn’t notice when the man at the counter called out, “Sir? Can I help you, sir?”

He took a breath so deep it could have held several layers of marine ecosystems, and stepped forward.

“I’d like…” he began, trying to steady his breathing, his hand, his mind, and just get the bloody sentence out of his mouth – “to check out a book.”

He placed the sweat-lined tome on the countertop. “This book,” he clarified. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

To his relief, the man smiled politely. “May I see your library card, sir?”

“I don’t, erm.” He coughed. “I don’t have one.”

“No problem at all, I’ll just whip one up for you.” The man behind the counter grinned – it was an attractive, knowing type of grin, the absolute best kind in the world. He started typing things into a computer. “What’s your name?”

He cleared his throat and straightened his head. “Dudley. Dursley. Erm. Dudley Dursley.”

The man grinned again. If Dudley hadn’t been so bloody anxious at the moment, he might have been getting a few butterflies in his stomach – the librarian definitely wasn’t that hard on the eyes. As it was, however, he couldn’t think about much else than the small white card popping out of a machine next to the sexy librarian’s computer. “Nice to meet you, Dudley Dursley,” the librarian said, holding out the card and a ballpoint pen. “If you can just sign your name on that little stripe right there, you’ll be right-o good-to-go.”

Dudley signed his name, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking. The sexy librarian definitely seemed to notice it when he handed the card back to him, and chuckled a little bit.

“You seem nervous,” he laughed. “Afraid I’m going to bite your head off?”

“Something of the sort, yeah,” Dudley responded, chuckling nervously. “This is… my first time.”

“First time what?”

“Checking out a book. From a library.”

“Oh, I see.” The librarian nodded thoughtfully and picked up the book Dudley had placed on the counter. “ _A Brief History of Time,_ by Stephen Hawking? Excellent choice. I’ve read it five times, maybe six. Not sure.”

“Yeah.” Dudley shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I need to catch up a bit, you see. Didn’t really pay attention to my lessons when I was younger.”

“Catch up to what?” the librarian asked, as he ran Dudley’s book through a scanner.

“Everything,” Dudley answered. “I’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

•••

“Back so soon?” The librarian picked up the book and tossed it into a “Return” bin behind him, turning back to look at Dudley.

“Yeah,” Dudley answered. “I read it all in one sitting. Stayed up all night to read it, it was fantastic.”

The librarian grinned. “Yeah, isn’t it? One of my favorites.”

Dudley cleared his throat. “Got any more?”

“Any more what?”

“Any more books like that,” Dudley clarified. “Science books, I s’pose. About… time, and space, and things. Or anything really.”

“Oh, yeah.” The librarian stepped around the corner, coming over to Dudley’s side of the counter. “Loads more.”

He started walking, and motioned for Dudley to follow him. “There’s a whole section over here that’s devoted to science,” he explained as they walked. “You’ll probably never run out of books to read, unless you’re a bloody wizard or something.”

“What about books that… that aren’t science?” Dudley’s head was whipping around them, gazing in awe at the rows and rows of books. “Like, history, or literature, or… or the sort?”

The sexy librarian laughed. “We’ve got those, too. If you ever need help finding anything, come find me. I can show you around.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to face him. “In case you ever do need to find me, my name’s Clarence.”

Dudley allowed himself to smile, just a bit. “Hi, Clarence.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Clarence, and he stuck out his hand.

Dudley didn’t take it. He only stared.

After a moment, he spoke. “No one’s ever said that to me before, ever.”

Clarence lowered his hand, confused. “Said what?”

“That it was a pleasure to meet me.”

“Well, it was,” said Clarence almost immediately, grabbing Dudley’s hand and shaking it. “And I can assure you, Mr. Dursley – it continues to be.”

•••

“What is it this time, Dudders?”

“I’m thinking… maybe something from this Dostoevsky bloke,” Dudley answered, after a moment or two of thought. “I’ve been hearing about him, from some of my mate’s at Uni… thought I might see what all the hype is about.”

“Excellent idea.” Clarence immediately started waltzing off to some part of the library, with Dudley trailing close behind. “Although, he’s not a personal favorite of mine… tends to over-elaborate things, I think. Bit dull, really.”

“You’ve read him?”

“A few things, here and there.” He started scanning the shelves, checking the Dewey number on his little card every now and then. “Here, he is, good old Dostoey. Take your pick.”

As Dudley started flicking his eyes over the various titles on the shelf, Clarence watched him intently. He stayed quiet for some time, until Dudley finally selected a book and started flipping through it – with sudden clarity, he spoke.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone like you, Dudley Dursley,” he said.

Dudley nearly dropped his book as he looked up in surprise. “What? I mean… what?”

“Lemme explain.” Clarence used his hands for elaboration, as he so often did. “I get lots of reading fanatics who come in here, sort of like you, who want to know everything there is to know about… Mesopotamian society, say, or… quantum mechanics. Or… something. So what they’ll do, is they’ll check out every single book on that topic, until they’re the absolute expert. I _get_ people like that, quite often. Researchers, they’re called, I think. But… but _you…_ you’re different.” He pointed directly at Dudley’s chest, which fluttered just the smallest bit in a not-entirely-unpleasant-but-queasy way. “You want to know everything about… _everything._ You’ve read books on science, history, classical and contemporary literature and everything in between, music theory, sociology, philosophy, mythology, and even the odd bits of obscure poetry. In the two years you’ve been coming here, you’ve possibly read more books than any other person in the history of this library… it’s like… it’s like you practically _inhale_ them.”

He leaned to the side, putting his elbow on a bookshelf and his hand on his cheek. He raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Dudley swallowed. He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking.

“Tell you what, Clare,” he said. “Come get coffee with me sometime, and I’ll tell you.”

To his relief, Clarence smiled.

•••

Dudley wasn’t good at awkward silences. Or awkward anything. Or… anything, really, at all, if you’d asked him about it. People, really, if he had to narrow it down. He wasn’t good with people.

Especially attractive librarians.

He cleared his throat. It’s what his father used to do when there was a silence, and he wanted to command the conversation – Dudley winced when he realized the comparison. Vernon Durlsey was the last person on Earth he wanted to be anything like.

“I was… a… bloody awful kid,” he said. Clarence nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his chai latte – of course, he just _had_ to get something fancy while Dudley stuck with his usual, black coffee with sugar. But anyway. “Really, truly rotten… I beat my cousin up on a regular basis, y’know, and… the kids at my school… were all afraid of me… ‘cause I’d beat them up, too.”

Clarence nodded again. Dudley was relieved at the lack of disgust on his friend’s face, so he forged ahead.

“And I was… dumb,” he went on, taking far too long to find each word, as if he had to peel it from the roof of his mouth. “I failed almost every class, for years… y’know, I think the only way I ever got into college was through m’ dad. He prob’ly threatened to beat up the headmaster if he didn’t let me in.”

He took a drink and continued, the searing hot liquid in his throat giving him a jolt of extra energy and clarity.

“But, y’know…” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m not stupid. I’m actually… pretty smart. But I acted thick, because I thought… maybe I wouldn’t get picked on if I wasn’t smart. Maybe if I was a bully and got bad grades, people wouldn’t… wouldn’t see that I was different, just like all the kids I picked on… different, just like everybody else in the world.” He looked up from his coffee. “See?”

Clarence nodded. “Mmhm,” he said.

Dudley thought some more. As an adult, he’d discovered this incredible phenomenon where speaking one’s thoughts aloud, in the context of a conversation, almost magically opened the mind to things one hadn’t even considered before. “And my mum and dad… they were so proud of me,” he went on. He drank. “Because I was a big, muscley brute and I never took ‘no’ for an answer. But I should have, really. I should have learned to take ‘no’ for an answer. Maybe I’d be… maybe I’d be a halfway decent person by now, if I had.”

Clarence reached out and covered Dudley’s hand with his.

It was a simple gesture. A small one. He placed his fingers, roughly the same level of meatiness as Dudley’s, on top of the thick hand clutching the paper coffee cup. He and let them rest there. A simple gesture, but a kind one – one Dudley appreciated more than he could say.

“I think you’re a half decent person,” Clarence told him. He didn’t say anything else.

“You’re just saying that,” Dudley said, half-sincerely and half-mocking.

“Well, yes, I _am_ saying it,” Clarence laughed. “But I’m saying it because I mean it. You _are_ a half decent person. You’re the most half decent person I know.”

Dudley allowed himself to smile. After so many years of internalized loathing and self-discipline, he decided it was finally time to allow himself that.

“Think I could ever be a fully decent person?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Clarence leaned forwards, putting his slightly stubble-brushed face in his hands. “But for now, let’s work on Dostoyevsky.”

•••

“Clare, I want to tell you something.”

“Shoot.”

Dudley tried to keep his hands from shaking as he put the hardcovers on the shelf (He’d spent so much time at the library the past couple of years, he’d sort of ended up volunteering on accident, and hadn’t bothered to stop). He filled his enormous lungs with as much air as they could hold.

“You alright, Dudders?”

“Fine, fine,” Dudley said. His voice trembled. “I’m fine, you sod.”

“Okay, then, get on with it.”

“Please just… be patient with me, this once.” Dudley looked over at him. “This is… really difficult for me.”

In his subtle way, Clarence softened. “Yeah, alright, big guy.” He stopped putting the books away and leaned on the shelf. “No problem.”

One useful thing Dudley _did_ learn in his youth is that sometimes, blurting things out as quickly and obnoxiously as you can is actually the right idea. “I’m gay,” he said, and it squirted from his mouth a hard boiled egg through a pair of wet hands, landing with a splat between the two of them on the library floor.

Clarence didn’t visibly react. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Go on.”

Dudley didn’t go on.

“That’s… that’s it,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

A beat passed, and then Clarence laughed. “If you honestly think I _didn’t_ know you were gay up until this moment, you sincerely overestimate your skills of discretion.”

“What?”

He laughed some more, but in a friendly way. “You’ve got beady little falcon’s eyes. You think I don’t see where you point them now and then?”

Dudley gulped. He sincerely hoped Clarence had _never_ seen where he pointed his eyes, because if he did, they were probably in for another few awkward conversations.

“Look, I’m proud of you, you big sniveling bastard,” Clarence told him, fondly. “I know it takes a lot of courage to say that. It did for me, when I told someone the first time. But really, honestly – don’t worry about it, okay?” He shook his head. “I know you, and I know you worry about what people think of you. But I’m the last person you should ever worry about. Even if I wasn’t bi, I wouldn’t care who you wanted to shag – it’s none of my business, it never will be, end of story.”

He started putting books back on the shelves again. “You feel better?”

Dudley checked his pulse. “Yeah. Loads.” He reflected for a moment. “First time I’ve ever told anyone that.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since secondary school. But I started wondering about it in Primary.”

“Hm. Me, too. And you’ve never told anyone?”

“No.”

“Except for now?”

“Except for now.”

Clarence paused for a second. “Good on you, Dudley Dursley.”

“Sod off,” Dudley murmured, except that this time, he was grinning as he said it.

•••

“So last week,” Clarence announced, “you gave me something very special. You gave me your trust. And this week, I’m going to give you something else special.”

Dudley raised an eyebrow as he brought his coffee (black with sugar) to his lips. “Not sure I like where this is going.”

“Oh, you will, trust me, you will.” Clarence reached into his tote bag and pulled out… a book.

It was old, dusty, and extremely well-worn. It looked like it had been through generations of avid readers. It was so worn out that Dudley could hardly make out the title written on the spine – he sounded the letters out loud.

“A-H-I-S-T-O-R-Y-O-F-M-A-G-I-” he read, and stopped short. He stared.

Clarence smiled at him mischievously. “Hm? What’s it say, Duddykins?”

Dudley swallowed. “A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot.”

“Knew you’d recognize it,” Clarence said proudly.

Dudley swallowed again. He looked at Clarence from underneath his creased eyebrows. “Where… did you get this?”

Clarence did The Look, which was only ever used when he was trying to convey something very strange and very important, and which was only ever used on Dudley. “School,” he said. “One of my old textbooks.”

Dudley nearly dropped the dusty tome on the floor. “You’re–”

“Yes, I am.”

“–a wizard?”

Clarence smilled, but it was unsure and cautious.

“Hope that’s okay,” he said, shrugging.

Dudley paused for a very long time.

“Of course,” he said finally, and took a long gulp of his coffee.

•••

“They’re all looking at me,” Dudley insisted. “It’s like… they can _tell_ I’m a muggle.”

“Just act like nothing is weirding you out, and you’ll be fine.” Clarence stopped at the bar and tapped the bartender’s back. “Can I ‘elp you, sir?” the bartender asked.

“Scotch with extract of elvesbane for me, and… what for you, Dudders?”

“I don’t drink,” Dudley answered. “I haven’t since college. Kills brain cells.”

“And a butterbeer for my mate,” Clarence finished.

“Aw’right,” the bartender said, nodding. He started fixing some sort of drink behind the counter. “First time at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Dudley nodded. “Clare’s showing me around Diagon Ally today. Never been there before.”

“Well, you must’ve!” the bartender cried in surprise. “Where’d you get your supplies for when you went to ‘Ogwarts?”

“I didn’t,” Dudley answered. “I didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

“Well, where’d you go, then?”

He swallowed. “Smeltings.”

“Never ‘eard of it.” The bartender plopped a drink down in front of Clarence, who started sipping it. “Is it a good school? Or one of those rubbish ones that don’t teach any decent magic?”

“It was a muggle school,” Dudley answered.

“Why’d you go to a muggle school?”

“Because I’m a muggle.”

“What? A _muggle_? In the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Yeah.”

The bartender paused for a long, long time before finally setting Dudley’s drink down in front of him with a shrug. “It’s a changing world, I s’ppose,” he said. “Well – bottoms up, boys!”

Twenty minutes, two more butterbeers, and one bathroom break later, Dudley and Clarence were stepping through the magical brick entrance. Dudley stared as the bricks shifted with a tap of Clarence’s wand – not in disgust, however, like the faces of his parents when confronted with magic, but in awe.

“Like my magic tricks, Dudders?” Clare asked, pulling him through the archway.

Dudley shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a few more up my sleeve.”

Dudley didn’t answer, because he was too busy staring at everything around him. Clarence, being used to Dudley’s mannerisms and the patterns of his brain, gave him a few moments to process.

“The central hub of the English magical community,” he announced after an adequate amount of time had passed. “What do you want to see first?”

Dudley shook his head. “Absolutely no idea. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Clarence took his arm in a mock-gentlemanly fashion. “Let’s start with the bookstore.”

•••

The night air lay, like a crisp blanket of cool, over Dudley’s sunburned skin. He felt, rather than saw, the small rays of moonlight struggling to shine through the streetlamps’ glow as they walked down the street from the tube station together.

He opened his mouth to speak. “Today was…”

“Fantastic? Mind-boggling? Utterly and completely out-of-this-world?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dudley answered, rolling his eyes. “I was going to say ‘nice’.”

“Nice,” Clarence scoffed. He punched Dudley in the shoulder. “I show you the bustling central hub of the British wizarding world and all you can say is, ‘nice.’”

Dudley picked up the cage in his arms to look at his new pet. “Well, this present you got me is pretty fantastic.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special. Every self-respecting wizard needs an owl.”

They had arrived at Dudley’s doorstep. He started to reach into his pocket to find his key, putting his beautiful gray owl on the ground for a moment. “But I’m not a wizard,” he said. He stopped fishing in his pocket for a moment. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No,” Clarence answered immediately. “Nothing about you bothers me – except your terrible habit of dog-earing books. Does it bother you that I am?”

“No,” Dudley responded. “Nothing about you bothers me.”

“Except…?” Clarence prompted.

“Except… nothing.” Dudley shrugged. “Nothing about you bothers me.”

Clarence was quiet for a while. When he finally spoke, his words were accompanied by a lift of his hand as he brought his index finger to rest on the underside of Dudley’s pudgy chin. “Can I…?” he asked, softly.

Dudley swallowed. “People don’t usually ask. They just… take.”

“Well, I’m not people.” Clarence was already closer than he had been two seconds before, which he didn’t seem to have done consciously. “So can I?”

“…yeah.”

As Clarence kissed him, Dudley’s keys fell out of his hand and clattered on the concrete doorstep, eliciting a sharp squawk out his owl, which echoed around the empty street. _I think I’ll call him “Noisy,”_ Dudley thought with a roll of his eyes, and then promptly stopped thinking entirely.

•••

“Bloody morning breath,” Clarence muttered between messy kisses.

“Stuff it,” Dudley responded. “S’not my fault you set my mouthwash on fire.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have… bought it in the… first place if you didn’t… didn’t want me to use it in… in my potion.”

Dudley punched his arm and drew back to lie on his pillow. He closed his eyes. “Bloody exhausted,” he said.

“So, not up for another round, then?”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Dudley put his hands on his face, trying to rub the fatigue out of his eyes. “Unlike you, I don’t have the recovery time of a teenager. Besides, I’ve got to look nice today – can’t stroll into my job interview looking sleepy-eyed and well-shagged, can I?”

“Well, you could, but it would sort of negate the point of the entire interview, which I’m going to assume would be getting a job.” Clarence turned on his side to see him better. “Besides – ‘sleepy-eyed and well-shagged’ is exactly how I like you.”

“You may be my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean my world revolves around you.”

“What?” Clarence looked aghast. “It _doesn’t_? That’s news to me, Dudders.”

“Sod off, you load of acromantula shit.”

Clarence laughed heartily. “I actually forgot you had that today,” he said. “You’ve got to keep our schedule in better order.”

“I keep our schedule in _perfect_ order,” Dudley said defensively. “Perfect _color-coded_ order, which you keep neglecting. You’re green, and I’m blue. Purple is for things we’re both doing. The problem is that _you_ never read it.”

“You know I never remember.”

“Because you’re a complete sodding idiot. How you ever managed to get your degree in Library Science is beyond me.”

“Bastard.” Clarence yawned. “ _Sexy_ bastard,” he added, correcting himself.

Dudley rolled his eyes and turned over, climbing out of the bed. Clarence watched him from where he stayed on the bed, wrapped up in the white sheets they’d been sharing for nearly a year, and watched as Dudley got dressed.

•••

Clarence was waiting for him at the door. “Did you get it?” he asked.

Dudley picked him off his feet and kissed him. “Those second year students better watch out,” he said when he put his boyfriend back on the ground. Clarence laughed.

“So you got the job?” He grinned at him.

Dudley nodded.

Clarence turned around. “Hear that, Noisy?” he called. Noisy flapped his wings and squawked happily, flying across the living room to land on Dudley’s shoulder. “Dudders got the job!”

“That’s _Professor Dursley_ to you,” Dudley told him, because it was.

•••

“That was bloody fantastic,” said Clarence, as he walked back from the bathroom and clambered back onto their bed.

Dudley immediately grabbed him and pulled him over, kissing him fiercely. “Happy anniversary,” he said.

Clarence reached over to the bedside table and grabbed two small Dixie cups filled with sink water. “To the best year of my life,” he said, and clinked glasses with Dudley. “S’not exactly champagne, but I guess it will have to do.”

“Best year of my life, too,” Dudley said, and downed his sink water.

The cups were thrown unceremoniously on the messy bedroom floor. Clarence leaned down, putting his head in Dudley’s blanket-covered lap, cuddling up to him as closely as he could.

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything for our anniversary,” Clarence said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dudley shrugged. “I’d say the sex was more than enough.”

Clarence gave a small, muffled sound of agreement. “Three years ago,” he mumbled, “I didn’t even know you. But now… I can’t even imagine life without you.”

Dudley ran a hand through his blonde, curly hair. “Even though I’m a massive git?”

“ _Because_ you’re a massive git, you massive git.”

“Twat.”

“Fair enough.”

Dudley paused for a long time. Clarence knew him well enough to know that when Dudley paused, it was because he was either thinking very deeply, working himself up to say something, or both. As per usual, he decided he’d let Dudley speak when he was ready.

“I want… to talk to you about something,” he said finally.

Clarence shifted so that he was looking up at him. “Shoot.”

Dudley didn’t clear his throat. “I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to start this.” He swallowed a second time. “Clare… I never thought… that I’d ever be the sort of person who could deserve someone like you.”

Clarence said nothing, but listened intently.

“The only person I’ve ever truly hated in my life is… me,” he went on. “But hearing you say that you loved me… well, I mean. I still hated myself. But I hated myself a little bit less.

“The thing is… the thing is what you said, what you said earlier.” He took a breath, deep and heavy. “That you can’t imagine life without me. Well, I can’t either. Without you, I mean. Not me.”

Clarence chuckled.

“What I’m… what I’m trying to say…” Dudley’s pulse was racing. “I think it would be… would be nice if… god. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. I don’t know how to say this, I don’t know…”

“Shh.” Clarence held up a long, thick arm and put a finger to Dudley’s slightly quivering lips. “Take your time, love. Take your time.”

Dudley paused for a second, and then nodded. He closed his eyes.

“Clare…” The word came out on a shivering breath, almost as if he hadn’t meant to let it slip out from his lips. “God. I love you so much, you complete twat. Would you marry me?”

Clarence let out a huff as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. He shifted around until he was facing Dudley and stared at him, expression unreadable. There were a few moments of silence.

“Of course I fucking would,” Clarence said finally, his face breaking out into a smile. Dudley was almost shocked to see the beginnings of a tear collecting in the corner of his eye. “And I fucking will. Now come here and kiss me, Dudley, you sniveling bastard.”

Dudley did just that.


	2. Chapter 2

_Every bursted bubble has a glory; each abysmal failure makes a point._  
Every glowing path that goes astray shows you how to find a better way.  
So every time you stumble, never grumble – next time you’ll bumble even less  
and up from the ashes, up from the ashes, grow the roses of success.

Dudley’s hand trembled as he knocked – once, twice, and then stopped, unsure whether a third knock would be overkill, or verging on tactless.

He waited.

The wait seemed interminable. There were far too many seconds of utter silence, and then some muffle voices behind the white wooden door, and then another few seconds of footsteps and shuffling drawing nearer and nearer, and then…

…a high pitched shriek.

It blasted him in the face as the door swung open. “Duddykins!” shrieked Petunia, as she tackled him. She had always been the tallest in the family, which gave her the perfect position from which to wrap her long, spindly arms around Dudley’s fleshy neck and shoulders.

He wasn’t sure how to react. It had been one (two? Three? Three and a half?) years since he’d seen his parents. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, or about seeing them now.

While Petunia smothered him in kisses, Dudley eyed his father lurking in the background. Vernon hadn’t been too excessively happy when Dudley had refused to take over his drill company, instead opting to go to University to get his degree in teaching ­– _teaching_ , of all things – but if he was still upset, he did an excellent job of not showing it now. His face was mostly… passive, but it didn’t look _un_ happy, so Dudley decided that he was fine.

When his mother pulled away, he stepped forward and extended a cautious hand. It shook a bit, which Vernon _definitely_ noticed. He stared at Dudley’s outstretched meaty palm.

“Dad,” Dudley managed. He forced himself to smile. “N-nice to see you.”

Vernon grunted and took his hand. “You’ve lost weight, Dudley m’boy,” he said, in his very Vernon-esque way. Dudley tried not to wince. “We’ve got to fatten you up a bit, can’t have you turning into a twig.”

Dudley took a deep breath. “Not weight, actually – fat.” He pinched his arm to demonstrate. “I’ve lost fat – but I’ve gained muscle. I go to a gym three times a week.” He gulped. “Don’t worry, though… reckon I’ll always be as pudgy as ever, no matter how much I work out.”

To his surprise, Petunia immediately jumped on him again, hugging him and fussing over him in a way he recognized immediately, from his childhood. He supposed she just really missed him – which wasn’t surprising.

“Come in, come in, Dudley darling,” she said, leading him into the sitting room. He passed the cupboard under the stairs on the way there, which he couldn’t help but stare at for a second. When the reached the sitting room, he sat down in what used to be his favorite chair and waited for his parents to sit down opposite him. Even though his mother instantly offered him some tea and Digestive biscuits, it felt less like a family visit and more like an interrogation from the moment he sat down.

There was a pause.

“So,” Vernon started, clearing his throat – Dudley winced – “How’s this… _University_ thing going, eh, Dudley?”

Dudley swallowed. “Good,” he answered evenly. “It’s… really, really good.”

“Good how?” Vernon leaned forward. “You got all those stupid professors right under your thumb, eh?” He beamed. “That’s my boy, yes indeed.”

“Actually…” Dudley began, but stopped. It wasn’t worth the correction – and how was he going to explain something like that to his father, anyway? That he’d become an entirely different person, and that if neither of his parents recognized him as the son they’d once had, he’d cry with happiness?

“You’re not…” Petunia began, and then faltered. “Duddykins, you’re not _really_ planning on becoming… a _teacher_ , are you? You can’t… not _really…”_

Dudley raised his head, which did nothing to boost his confidence. “Yes, I am,” he answered – not without a bit of pride. “I’m going to become a primary school teacher – I’m almost finished getting my degree.”

“You can’t be serious,” Vernon nearly erupted, which let Dudley know that yes, he was in fact still upset about it. He could see Vernon’s irritation seeping through his skin, but it was nothing compared to the red face fury he had seen in the past, so he decided again to forge ahead.

“I am,” Dudley answered. “Very serious.”

“But you’ll hardly make any money at all!” Vernon continued.

“I don’t care,” Dudley countered. “I don’t need much to live on.”

“But… why?” Petunia asked. She fiddled with her fingers in her lap.

“Because it’s what I love,” Dudley answered, since that was the simplest answer. “It’s what makes me happy.”

“Why can’t drills make you happy?” asked Vernon, who was half-joking and half-very-serious.

Dudley didn’t answer. He owed them nothing.

Petunia, who was already growing nervous, decided to change the subject. “Have you got a girlfriend, Dudley?” she asked, which she obviously hoped would lighten the mood.

It did the opposite of helping. Dudley immediately clenched up, staring at her. “No,” he said. He hoped they wouldn’t pry further.

“You need to get on task, Dudley!” Vernon roared – if they hadn’t been on the opposite sides of the room, he probably would have slapped him on the back. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since secondary school – when I was your age, I had a girl on each arm!”

Dudley was sure that was an exaggeration, but he ignored it. “I don’t want a girlfriend,” he said, mumbling, quietly.

“What!” Vernon laughed. “Of course you do! Every boy your age wants a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, not me.”

“Why not, Duddykins?” Petunia crooned. “Are you afraid to ask a girl out on a date, is that it? Are you afraid she won’t like you?”

 _No, I’m afraid that she’ll instantly loose interest when she finds out that I’m gay,_ Dudley thought scathingly, but only shrugged.

“I’ll take absolutely none of this,” Vernon announced. “Next time I see you, Dudley, you’re going to have a beautiful woman on your arm – you understand, son?”

Dudley said nothing, which his father took to mean “yes.”

“Excellent,” Vernon roared. He smiled.

Dudley did not.

•••

“Oh, Dudley! My beautiful wittle baby boy! Come in, come in. How are you, Duddykins?”

Dudley held his breath as his mother kissed him, clenching his hands into fists. Same as last time, Vernon waited sullenly a few feet behind.

“So sorry we couldn’t come to your graduation, Dudley darling,” Petunia apologized when she stepped back. “Your father was making a rather large business deal and I had this awful headache and­–”

“It’s fine,” Dudley said, smiling tightly. He didn’t care about business deals or headaches – the truth was, he hadn’t wanted them there.

“I suppose you’ll be looking for a job, now,” Vernon said, a bit cheerfully from behind them. Dudley wondered what he had up his sleeve.

“Yeah,” he answered. “S’pose I will.”

“You know, Dudley m’boy,” Vernon said, puffing out his enormous stomach, “I’m sure I could pull some strings and get you a spot at the drill company. It’d pay nice, and would do a young man like you some good to–”

“ _No,_ thanks,” Dudley said instantly. There was no way in hell he was going to work for his father’s company. And besides… he might already have a job – but there was no way he was going to tell his parents that his wizard boyfriend had been able to get him a small position at Flourish and Blott’s in Diagon Alley, just to have until he could be hired as a teacher.

A few minutes (and some homemade cookies later), the Durlsey family was seated again in the living room, shrouded in a tense, uncomfortable silence. Dudley knew that in the past visit and this current one, his parents had finally started to understand how different he’d become from the son they used to know – and he _loved_ it.

The triumphant feeling couldn’t last, however. “So, Dudley,” Vernon said, clearing his throat after some talk about Petunia’s garden and what all the neighbors were doing, “have you got a girlfriend yet?”

Dudley stared at his father, and was suddenly overcome with a surge of confidence. _I’m going to do it,_ he thought, as he clenched his fingers on the arms of his chair. _I’m going to tell them. Now._

“Actually,” he said slowly, “I… I am seeing someone.”

Petunia cheered happily and clapped her hands, and Vernon beamed from across the room. “That’s my boy!” he shouted.

“What’s her name?” Petunia asked.

Just as instantly as it had appeared, Dudley’s confidence wavered. “Erm,” he coughed. “Clare.”

“Claire?” Petunia repeated. “Oh, Vernon! What a lovely name! Is she pretty, Duddykins?”

That was all it took – Dudley’s confidence disappeared entirely. He coughed again. “Yeah,” he said, and then changed the subject.

•••

“I told my parents about you.”

Clarence looked up at him over the cart of books he’d been sorting through. “Yeah?”

“Well. Sort of. Not really. Just a little.”

Clarence leaned on top of the books and raised an eyebrow. “You sort-of-not-really-just-a-little told your parents about me?”

“Stuff it.” Dudley punched his shoulder, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I told them that I was seeing someone and they asked me for a name and I said Clare.”

“And…?”

Dudley rolled his eyes pointedly. “ _And,_ I didn’t specify a gender.”

“Ah.” Clarence nodded. “And they assumed I was–”

“–a woman, yeah.”

“And you let them believe it?”

“Well… yeah, I did.”

After a moment, Clare shrugged and started putting books away again. “Well, I suppose when you tell them is up to you. But my advice would be, don’t let them believe that for too long, unless you plan on _never_ telling them about me.”

“No, no, I do,” Dudley assured him. “I’m going to have to eventually, since… since…”

He faltered.

Clarence looked at him over his shoulder. “Since what, exactly?”

Dudley swallowed and looked away. This was a topic that had never been addressed before. “Clare, I know this… maybe this is a bit too early in our relationship, but I’m pretty certain… I really think that I’m very serious about you, about, staying with you for quite some time. I mean, if you don’t really feel that way about us then that’s fine, but I’m just saying–”

“Shut up, Dudley Dursley,” Clarence said with an affectionate grin, laughing a little. “You worry too much about what I think of you.”

Dudley shrugged. “I s’pose. Maybe.”

“Of course I’m serious about you.” Clarence reached his hand over the cart and took his boyfriend’s hand, holding it as he put books away with his other arm. “I’ve been serious about you since the moment I kissed you on your doorstep.” He pushed the empty cart away and leaned on the bookshelf in his usual Clarencian fashion and smiled a little smile to himself – the kind of smile he knew Dudley liked best. “I’d even go as far to say that I’ve been serious about you since the moment I realized I loved you, if you really want to get into it.”

Dudley nearly choked on his spit.

“What?” he said, almost instantly, as he coughed unceremoniously.

Clarence watched him with an expression of amusement. “What, _what_?”

Finally, Dudley recovered himself. “You… love me?”

Clarence peered at him from underneath raised eyebrows as if he was the thickest idiot in the universe. “Of _course_ ,” he said. “I thought that was obvious.”

Dudley shook his head. His pulse was racing. “Not to me, no.”

“Well, then.” Clarence stepped closer, running his finger along the edge of Dudley’s cardigan, so close that Dudley could feel his breath against his own chin. “I’ll do my best to make it more obvious in the future.”

He kissed him, first a tiny, chaste peck, and then a slightly longer kiss that ended with both of them smiling into the other’s lips. Dudley cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, and straightened his collar.

“I s’pose I should say that I love you too, now, should I?” he coughed.

Clarence chuckled. “If you like,” he said, shrugging. “But I already knew that. Besides, I hardly think saying ‘I love you’ is as monumental of a declaration as most people make it out to be.”

“Maybe not,” Dudley agreed. “But… no one’s said it to me before. Well, except for my mum, but she’s… she’s my _mum_ , you know?”

“Mmhm.”

“So it means a lot to me.”

“I know it does.”

“…I do love you. More than I know how to put into words.”

Clare laughed. “And we all know how good you are with words, Duddykins.”

Dudley couldn’t decide between punching him and snogging him, and he eventually settled on the latter. A few seconds into the quickly-deepening kiss, Dudley heard Marian Addle, the head librarian, call out from behind him.

“Oswald!” She peered from around a shelf of books, shaking her head. “You can snog your boyfriend later – now get back to work!”

Clarence rolled his eyes, but laughed. “Yes, ma’am!”

Dudley shook his head and followed Clarence to the back hallway to get another load of books to be reshelved. “See the match yesterday?” he asked.

“No, dumb arse, I was with you. Having a good amount of ‘quality time,’ as I recall.”

“Oh. Right.”

Clarence gave him an eyebrow and a fresh load of books. “You don’t even like football.”

“Used to.” Dudley shrugged. “Just trying to make small talk.”

“Why bother?”

“I–” Dudley began, and then faltered. “I don’t… know… isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Fill the silence?”

Clarence smiled to himself, shaking his head. “Not always. Sometimes you don’t have to talk.”

So they didn’t.

•••

“Dudley? Is that you, my little Duddykins?”

“Yeah. Hi, mum.”

“Dudley! Dudley, darling! How is my beautiful baby boy?”

“I’m, er. I’m fine. How’s, erm, how’s Mrs. Figg? Is her leg feeling better?”

“Oh, she’s doing just fine. Why are you calling? Is something wrong? You never call me anymore – is something going on, Duddykins? Is everything–”

“I’m _fine_ , mum, really. I’m fine. I just… just wanted to tell you… something.”

“Are you okay? Oh god, what is it?”

“Nothing bad, nothing… it’s okay. It’s not bad. Don’t worry. I’m not… _sick_ or anything. It’s just… something. That I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a very long time.”

“What is it, pumpkin?”

“…I’ve…”

“Mm?”

“See, I’ve got… I’ve got a…”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“…a…”

“Dudley, is everything all right?”

“…a boyfr…”

“A what?”

“…a job. I’ve got… a job.”

“A job? Where?”

“At a school. Teaching. Second years. I start next month.”

“Oh, Dudley, that’s… that’s wonderful. …I’m happy for you, I really am. Is that all you wanted to talk about, darling?”

Dudley hung up the phone.

•••

The cushion let out a whoosh of air as Clarence’s weight plopped down next to him. Dudley couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye, even when Clarence draped an arm languidly over Dudley’s shoulder.

“Did it go all right?” he asked.

Dudley didn’t answer.

Clarence took a deep breath. “So I’m taking that as a no.”

“It went fine,” Dudley answered. “Because I didn’t tell her.”

Suddenly, the arm was gone from his shoulder.

Clarence took his time before responding. “Dudley…” he began, and then seemed unable to finish his sentence.

“I’m sorry,” Dudley managed. He put his face in his hands. “I tried. I got so close. I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry.”

Clarence stood. Even without looking at him, Dudley could tell how upset he was. “Dudley, this has got to stop. You have _got_ to tell them.” He crossed his arms – he nearly never did that. “We _live_ together. We’re not just dating anymore – we’re serious, aren’t we?” He uncrossed his arms, using his hands for emphasis, his face in an expression of pain. “I thought we were starting a life together.”

“We are,” Dudley responded, taking his head out of his hands. “That has nothing to do with–”

“It has everything to do with it!” Dudley blinked as he realized that Clarence wasn’t just upset – he was growing angry. “Dudley, I’m sorry, I know it’s not easy, but it’s something you’ve got to do; what, are you going to just let them find out on their own?”

“Why not?” Dudley snapped. He rose – Clarence stepped backwards.

“Because I don’t want to be your brush-asideable small-talk-worthy boyfriend, okay? I want to be a _part_ of your _fucking life_. A part that is important enough to get mentioned in front of your parents every now and then!”

“It’s not about that! It’s not about you not being _important_. It’s about me being scared, and… me not being ready, okay?” Dudley’s blood was clenching in his ribcage. “God, why the fuck does everything have to be about you and what you want?”

“I didn’t say it was!”

“Well that’s really what it _sounded like._ ”

“ _Fine_ ,” Clarence snapped. The one word was so venomous, so sharp, that Dudley nearly tripped backwards and fell onto the couch. “Don’t tell them. Don’t ever tell them. Let’s live the rest of our fucking lives being oh-so- _fucking­-_ careful not to ever let it slip to Mummy and Daddy that little Duddykins has a _boyfriend_. It’ll be just like back in secondary school when you wait until your parents aren’t home so you can snog the boy next door – almost as if we aren’t actual _adults_ in an actual _relationship_ with actual plansfor the future _.”_ He grabbed his coat on the way to the front door, stopping for a moment to spit out, “Come find me when you’re ready to act like a goddamn adult,” before slamming the door behind him.

Dudley couldn’t move.

•••

The sound of the door being messily unlocked probably would have woken him, if he’d been sleeping in the first place. As it was – he hadn’t been.

Dudley wondered briefly if he should go downstairs and confront him, but eventually decided against it. Clarence would either come find him, or he wouldn’t. Dudley would let _him_ decide.

In less than a minute, he heard the bedroom door open. He didn’t look up. He heard some shuffling, something that sounded like clothing rustling – he still didn’t look up.

When a heavy body landed on the mattress, got under the covers, and cuddled up to him, spooning him up like Christmas pudding, he did look up. He saw the side of Clarence’s face from over his shoulder, and felt Clarence’s soft breath beating warm against the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Clarence said. It was barely even a whisper.

Dudley took the hand that was lying on his hip and held it. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things. Any of them. I wish I hadn’t.”

“I know. Me, too.”

Clarence paused for a long time, breathing Dudley in from behind. “God, I’m such an arse.” He buried his face in the gap between Dudley’s neck and the pillow. “Such a fucking arse. Why do you put up with me?”

Dudley grinned into the pillowcase. “Because you’re _my_ stuipd arse. And what a lovely little arse you are.”

“Stuff it,” Clarence told him, but Dudley could feel him grinning as well.

Clarence waved his hand gently through the air and a few tiny spots of light, like glowing snowflakes, appeared in the darkness beside their bed. Dudley watched the little flickers of light dance around in the air in front of his nose. Clarence dropped his hand, and the little lights disappeared, and he left a soft kiss on the back of Dudley’s neck.

Dudley didn’t remember falling asleep, nor did he remember waking up. But once he _had_ woken up, he found that Clarence was still there, and that was all that really mattered.

•••

For possibly the thousandth time, Dudley woke up next to Clarence Oswald, but absolutely for the first time, Dudley woke up next to his fiancée. _His fiancée._ The thought left him absolutely giddy.

As he fried up a couple eggs and Clarence put on the kettle for tea, he was hit with a sudden out-of-the-blue decision. He finished the eggs and brought them over to the table, where his boyfriend was already sitting, staring at the color-coded schedule.

“Now remind me again,” Clarence said slowly, taking his plate – “which color am–”

“Green.” Dudley sat down next to him. “It’s written down in the margin.”

Clarence peered closer, adjusting his glasses. “So it is,” he said happily, pushing the schedule away. “So what’s on the docket for today, Dudders?”

Dudley cleared his throat. “I’m going to tell them.”

Clarence blinked. “What?”

“Maybe not today. But sometime this week. Whenever I can arrange it.” Dudley pushed his egg around his plate. “My parents, I mean. I’m going to tell them about you.”

Clarence nodded, slowly. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I was too afraid to tell them about my boyfriend,” Dudley explained. “But maybe I’ll have the balls to tell them about them man I’m going to marry.”

After a moment, Clarence smiled. “I’m proud of you,” he said, and Dudley could tell how much he meant it. “I’ll be right there with you, I promise. You doing it over the phone or in person?”

“In person,” Dudley decided. “Because you’re coming with.”

“What? You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Dudley shrugged. “You’re polite, handsome, you’re an absolute gentleman – I mean, I dunno. Maybe if they can see you for themselves and see how wonderful you are, it’ll make things easier.”

“Maybe they won’t want to see me,” Clarence pointed out. “Maybe it’ll make things harder.”

Dudley shook his head. “I don’t care. You’re coming with me, and they’re going to see you for themselves. Okay?”

Clarence took his hand across the table. “Okay,” he said, and downed his eggs in small, dainty bites with the other hand.

•••

He was possibly more nervous than he’d ever been in his life, and he hadn’t even rung the doorbell yet.

Clarence rested his hand on the small of Dudley’s back as he lifted a meaty finger and pressed the old, sticky button. He heard the electric chimes come muffled through the front door, followed by footsteps and muffled talking. By the time Petunia opened the door, he could feel his pulse echoing through his entire body.

“Dudley, darling, how are you?” she began, trailing off when she saw Clarence standing next to him. “Dudley, who’s this?”

Dudley cleared his throat. “Erm. Someone I wanted you guys to meet. Can we come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Petunia told him, waving them inside and shutting the door after them. “Your father’s in the sitting room. I’ll go get the biscuits.”

Vernon was sitting in his big armchair, reading the business section of the paper. He hardly even looked up. Dudley had noticed that he’d become more disenchanted with Dudley’s visits as time went by – maybe he was becoming aware of how little Dudley resembled the stupid, spoiled bully of a son Vernon used to be proud of.

“Hullo, Dad,” he said, just as Petunia walked back into the room with a tray covered in digestive biscuits. Vernon looked up as Petunia took her seat on the couch, and he grunted a greeting.

“Who’s this?” he asked, motioning at Clarence. Petunia stared at both of them with her beady eagle eyes, waiting, waiting for Dudley to introduce him. Dudley could feel the sweat forming on his brow, so much that he was almost dripping.

“Mum…” he began – “Dad…” He swallowed, looking to Clarence for encouragement. He nodded, so Dudley forged ahead. “This is, er… someone very important to me, and my life. And I wanted you to meet him.”

His parents said nothing. His mother smiled. He wondered if she’d be smiling in another couple of seconds. He decided that there was only one way to find out.

“This is Clarence,” he announced, taking Clarence’s hand – a gesture that did not go unnoticed by either of the elder Dursleys. “Clarence Oswald.”

“Hi,” Clarence said, waving politely. Petunia nodded – Vernon did not react.

Dudley took the biggest breath he’d ever taken. He could feel his pulse roaring in his ears – he could almost see it in big black spots, flashing near the back of his eyes. His skin felt clammy and cold and bare – so fucking bare, so _exposed._ If he didn’t get the words out now, he realized, he’d never be able to.

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Clarence…”

Clarence squeezed his hand.

“…is my… boyfriend.”

There was a great and terrible pause.

“Your what, pumpkin?” Petunia asked. She seemed halfway between confused and terrified.

“My boyfriend,” Dudley repeated. It seemed that after he’d gotten the words out, his confidence was soaring back to him. “Or my partner, or whatever you want to call it. You know – we hold hands and do the bills together and live together and… things. We’re a couple.”

Petunia had turned white. Vernon hadn’t moved, but his expression had turned so stone still and blank that dread started piling up in the pit of Dudley’s stomach. “But… but…” Petunia stuttered. “What about… you had a girlfriend – Claire!”

“Clare, Clar-ence…” Dudley motioned with his hands to demonstrate. “It’s… it’s a nickname. It’s… what I call him.”

Petunia rose from the couch. She was covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Dudley… but you said… you said she was a woman–”

“I never said that,” Dudley snapped. It came out sharper than he’d thought it would. “I said I was with someone and you assumed it was a woman. You always assume things about me–” He was about to go on, but the look on his father’s face brought him to a sharp halt.

The tense silence in the room seemed to stretch on into eternity. It seemed that everyone was waiting for someone else to speak. When Clarence cleared his throat awkwardly, Dudley’s father finally stood.

He stared and stared. Dudley gripped Clare’s hand even tighter – when he did, he could see Vernon’s already tomato-red cheeks flush an even darker shade of crimson. When his father spoke, Dudley nearly reeled backwards; it was a voice he’d heard hundreds of times, but never on him. A voice specially reserved for the times when Harry had set a snake loose at the zoo, or sent Aunt Marge floating into the stratosphere, or saved Dudley from a dementor.

“What,” he began – his voice a quivering laser beam of pure, concentrated, boiling fury – “the _bloody hell_ ,” – his eyes blew wide – “ _do you think you’re playing at?”_

Dudley’s courage was failing him, but now he’d done it, and he had to deal with the consequences. “I’m not playing at anything,” he responded steadily. “I’ve been keeping this from you for a long time. Thought it was time I started being honest.”

“But _Dudley!”_ Vernon hissed. His words came thick through his teeth much in the same way pressurized air came out of a deflating cushion, which sort of seemed fitting, given Vernon’s size and fat-to-muscle ratio. “You can’t… you can’t be a… a…”

“A _what_ , Dad?” Dudley let go of Clarence’s hand and balled his own hands into fists. “A sod? A bender? A poofter? What _exactly_ were you going to call me? Why don’t you just grow some fucking balls and say it to my–”

“I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS FROM YOU!” Vernon roared. He had turned beet red. Dudley staggered back with the sheer force of it. Petunia was cowering in the corner, tears running down her cheeks. “You were a _good boy,_ Dudley, a _fine_ , _normal boy_ – we were both so proud of you, your mother and I – and then you had to go and start _teaching_ , and now you come into _my house_ to tell me that you’re _taking it up the arse now?”_

“Vernon, please…” Petunia whimpered from the corner, but Vernon didn’t even look at her. His eyes were boring holes in Dudley’s. He looked terrifying.

“You thought I was normal?” Dudley said, almost quietly. He had never, not once in his life, felt so furious. “You thought that that _stupid, useless bully_ I used to be… was _normal?_ Do you have _any fucking idea_ how much misery I went through to stop being the person you made me be?”

“Oh, Dudley…” Petunia whispered.

“It took me _years_ to undo what you did!” Dudley yelled. He felt Clarence’s hand on his shoulder. “I had to learn how to be kind all on my own, because all you ever taught me was selfishness! Do you have any idea what that’s like? Do you have any idea what being _kind_ is like? I’ve built a _life_ for myself, a real _life,_ and I’ve become a person I’m proud to be, and the only thing that matters to you, out of all of that, is that I’m dating a _man_? How fucked up are you?”

“Don’t you _dare_ speak that way to me,” Vernon hissed through clenched teeth, eyes narrowing even further. “I will not have my son speak to me like–”

“Then I’m _not_ your son,” Dudley spat, and there it was. “Not anymore. And I don’t care anymore what you think of me. You can call me anything you like. You can yell at me for as long as you want. It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that I’m not the person you wanted me to be, or that I’m in love with Clarence…” Dudley hadn’t intended to say this yet, but he just couldn’t stop it from spilling out of his mouth – “… _or_ that we’re getting married.”

It was as if he had uttered a spell. Petunia went completely still, and Vernon exploded.

“YOU PIECE OF _SHIT_!” he screamed. “I’LL SHOW YOU TO RESPECT ME, DUDLEY, IF I HAVE TO BREAK YOUR NECK WITH MY BARE HANDS–”

Dudley didn’t even see Clarence’s hand go into his pocket, but he watched in horror as his boyfriend – completely on instinct – withdrew his wand from his coat and pointed it at his father’s head.

“Clare–” he began, reaching up to shove the wand away, but it was too late. Both of his parents had seen it.

Petunia put her hands over her mouth. Vernon went instantly from fire engine red to a sickly pale. His face was a terrible mixture of fury and horror. Clarence let his wand drop back to his side, hand shaking.

Vernon stared and stared and stared, shuddering. Dudley prepared to make a run for it. Somehow, none of the worst-case-scenarios he’d imagined in his head had been _this_ bad.

“ _Get… that… filfth… out of my HOUSE,”_ Vernon screamed, pointing a meaty finger at Clarence, and for the first time in years, Dudley did exactly what his father commanded. He grabbed his fiancée’s hand and ran. He didn’t look back and he didn’t cry.

•••

“I love you, you know that?”

Dudley looked down at the cauldron he was stirring. He made potions when he didn’t want to think. Clarence knew this.

“I know,” Dudley said.

He dropped some dried newts into the brew. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he added, and kept stirring, and kept stirring, and kept stirring.


	3. Chapter 3

_So when it gets distressing it's a blessing!_

_Onward and upward you must press! Yes, Yes!_

_Till up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success._

_•_

Dudley wished more than anything that Clarence was here, but he knew this was something he was going to have to do on his own – no matter how much it terrified him.

While he waited in the café (he’d shown up half an hour early, just in case, which was an excellent example of what Clare frequently called his tendency towards “anxious anticipation”), he graded papers. He’d never understood why other professors complained about grading; he loved it. Not only did he find it immensely calming, but also loved hearing the students’ voices and watching them learn through their assignments. He also enjoyed looking through them with Clare and guessing which ones came from wizarding families. God, he wished Clare was here right now.

As soon as the clock on his mobile hit the time they’re agreed on, Dudley started to panic. He knew he couldn’t expect people to be as flawlessly punctual as he wished they would be, but nevertheless… there was a very high probability that his guest wouldn’t show.

Dudley wouldn’t blame him at all.

He kept going through the papers. This one, Sarah Dale, was obviously a witch. He’d spotted her out the first day of class when she’d come in munching a box of Bertie Bott’s, and she’d been making small allusions to her wizarding family on accident ever since. His parents would kill him if they ever knew, but Dudley had become an expert on all things magical. Working in Diagon Alley had taught him more than he’d ever thought he’d know about wizarding culture.

When he looked up for a second, he saw the man he’d been waiting for only a few minutes before, entering the shop.

Dudley’s pulse instantly sped up. He couldn’t believe how different he looked. He looked so… _old_. So much more mature than he’d last seen him. For a few moments, Dudley honestly couldn’t believe this man could really him… but then Harry turned and saw him, and Dudley saw the familiar scar, green eyes, and the same style of round glasses he had worn as a child, and each man knew at the same time that he really was looking at his cousin.

Harry made his way through the tables. Dudley stood. When Harry reached him, Dudley instinctively stuck out his hand. Harry seemed surprised at the gesture, but shook it all the same, not breaking the awkward silence or his piercing eye contact. Dudley felt himself start to shake internally and hoped Harry didn’t feel the nervous vibrations when he shook his hand.

The moment seemed to drag on forever. Neither seemed to know what to say. When the first words came, it was – to both of their surprise – from Dudley.

“Hullo,” he said. He scratched his neck and swallowed. Harry stayed silent for a moment more, and then seemed to shake himself.

“Er, hi.” He raised his eyebrows and let his breath out slowly. “Should we, erm…”

“Yeah,” Dudley said, and took a seat. Harry followed suit.

More silence. It was absolute torture. Dudley felt Harry’s scrutinizing gaze and wished he knew what to say. Make small talk? Say something friendly? Apologize right off the bat? What?

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “Is that a cappuccino?” he asked, pointing at Dudley’s drink. Smalltalk, then. Thank god Harry knew his tact.

“Er, yeah.” Clarence had introduced him to the fancier items on the menu, and while he still usually stuck to plain coffee, he quite liked the creamy taste of cappuccinos. “Do you like them?”

“Not really,” Harry said. “I prefer tea, honestly.”

“Oh.” Dudley desperately wished he had said something else.

“But Hermione loves them,” Harry added, after a moment.

Dudley vaguely remembered the name. Someone Harry had known at school, he thought. “Hermione?”

“One of my best friends,” Harry said – almost defensively, it sounded. As if he had expected Dudley to scoff at the idea of Harry having friends (which, at one point, Dudley knew he would have).

“Oh,” Dudley said. Then: “Um, are you going to order something?”

“Yeah, probably.” Harry kept eying him in this uncomfortable way, as if Dudley were going to reach across the table and give him a right hook to the jaw. God, why hadn’t he brought Clare?

More silence followed, during which a waiter passed by (whom Harry ordered an Earl Grey from) and Dudley’s coffee started to go a bit cold.

Finally, Harry breached the subject. “I was a bit, er, confused,” he admitted. “When you contacted me.”

Dudley let out a huff. “Yeah. I can imagine. Sorry about that.”

“It’s just…” Harry sighed, still obviously uncomfortable. “You haven’t… well. We haven’t exactly spoken in a long time.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“And you never really… seemed to… _like_ me, is what I’m saying.”

Dudley cringed.

“Yeah, I can understand that,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And… Oh, thank you.” Harry took his steaming cup from the waitress and started stirring it awkwardly. “Well. And. I was a bit surprised at your choice of communication, honestly?”

Dudley nodded. He knew full well that the way he’d sent the invitation was probably the only reason Harry had taken it seriously and bothered to speak to him again. Besides, he didn’t know if Harry even contacted anyone by any means other than owl these days (although he could now clearly see a mobile phone sticking out of Harry’s back pocket).

“Did he make a fuss at all?” he asked. “My owl, I mean? I call him Noisy. Guess you could figure out why.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Your owl?”

“Er. Yeah. He hasn’t delivered a letter in a while, so I worried he might get a bit too excited.”

Harry’s eyebrow remained raised. “He was _your_ owl. You’ve got an owl.”

“Er.” Dudley bit his lip. “Yes.”

“You.”

“Yeah.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “How… _why_ do you have an owl?”

Dudley shrugged, which he hoped made him seem less nervous than he was. “Good way to communicate, I guess. And he makes a great pet.”

Harry was still staring at him as though he’d grown a second head, but he mercifully decided to stop pushing the subject. “I see.”

“Hows, er, your owl? Hedwig or something?” Dudley asked. “How’s she doing?”

Harry looked down at his tea. “She died,” he said. “Some years ago, actually.”

Dudley wanted to punch himself. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not like… well like I said, it’s not like we’ve been on the best of terms.”

“Right. We haven’t.”

More silence. Dudley felt like he might choke on it.

After what felt like minutes and minutes, Harry sneezed.

“Bless you,” Dudley said.

Harry seemed surprised – probably at Dudley’s unprecedented level of tact. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They drank for a while more.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “Dudley…” he said, and the name sounded sick coming from his mouth. Dudley knew that he’d probably still hate him at this point, but he hadn’t been prepared for actually hearing the distaste in his cousin’s voice, and it stung like a slap to the face. Harry cleared his throat again. “Dudley, I just… why did you want to see me, Dudley? All of a sudden?”

Dudley didn’t know how to answer. There were too many reasons. So he could apologize, so he could try to rebuild this relationship from scratch, so he could sleep easier at night, etcetera. He ended up saying, simply: “So I could try to make things better.”

This caught Harry off guard.

“Um. Better?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Dudley said, instantly, and Harry didn’t seem to catch the full weight of the words in Dudley’s mouth so he said them again. “God, Harry, I am so, so sorry. I’ve wanted to say that to you every day since the last day we saw each other. What I did to you, all those years; that was absolutely unforgivable. So I won’t be offended if you get up right now and leave and never speak to me again. I know I’ll deserve it.”

Harry’s mouth was hanging open in shock, but Dudley forged ahead.

“I abused you,” he said. “I know I did. I know that now. My parents did, too. We all abused you. I treated you like no one should ever be treated, especially not as good of a bloke as you. And I wish, I wish more than anything in the world that I could go back and do it all over again. And I know that I can’t make it up to you, not ever, but I’ve been trying ever since then to make things right and I needed to at least say this all to you, before you left and never saw me again, just how absolutely sorry I am about all of it. Everything. _All_ of it.”

The quiet that followed was different this time, because now the words that needed to be said had been said, and they were hanging there like flies in spider silk. Harry was quiet. Dudley was waiting, breathless, but he had stopped shaking. Some part of him had been pacified. Even if Harry shouted at him, or left without a word, at least Dudley knew now that he had said what he needed to say, and the words had been listened to.

After what seemed like years, Harry laughed.

This took Dudley by surprise. He furrowed his brow. “Sorry, is something… funny?”

“Just… Ginny owes me two galleons now,” he said, still chuckling. “I always said you’d apologize one day. She didn’t think so, but then… I guess she’s never met you.”

Dudley was too shocked to know how to respond, so he just said, “Ginny?”

“Yeah. She’s my wife.”

“I didn’t know you had a wife.”

“Well I didn’t know you had an owl,” Harry responded, and Dudley was struck with a pang of familiarity. Harry had always known how to talk back when he wanted to.

“I guess there’s a lot of things we don’t know about each other,” Dudley said. “But you… you thought I was going to apologize?”

Harry was quiet for a few moments more. “You were always different,” he said after a while – softly. “Maybe no one else could tell. But I could. You weren’t like your parents. You never were, really.”

Dudley could have jumped for joy. Hearing that (from Harry Potter, of all people!) was almost too good to be true.

“I’ve spent a lot of years trying not to be,” he said, and as he spoke he realized he was grinning. “Soon as you left, I got a good look at myself. Realized I wasn’t who I wanted to be.”

Harry smiled, just a little bit, and very awkwardly. “So what is it that you’re, uh, doing now?” he asked, trying to move the conversation back into a more comfortable area. “Did you end up taking over Vernon’s company like you always said?”

Dudley made a face of disgust. “God, no.”

“So then what are you doing?”

Dudley held up the stack of assignments. “I’m a teacher,” he said. “Second years.”

Harry paused for a moment before grinning manically and laughing.

“That is too wild,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s fine.”

“But, seriously. You’re a _teacher?_ ”

Dudley would have been offended if he didn’t feel the exact same way about the situation. “I know. Me, the old meathead, teaching primary school.”

“It’s bloody fantastic, is what it is,” Harry said, and Dudley could feel the gates opening. Awkwardness was still hanging in the air like thick fog in between them, but the channels for conversation had at last been cleared.

“And you?” he asked. “What are you up to?”

“Auror,” Harry said. “Ginny, too. An Auror is a wizard or witch who–”

“I know what an Auror is,” Dudley said with a nod.

Harry stared at him, an eyebrow quirked up. “Dudley,” he said slowly – “why _do_ you have an owl?”

Dudley cleared his throat. “I bought him,” he said. “In Diagon Alley.”

Harry’s eyes could have fallen out of his head, the way he stared at him. It was almost absurd. “You were… shopping in Diagon Alley?”

“Yeah. Nice place, that is.”

“But… Dudley, only wizards can get in. No muggles.”

“Not if you’ve got a wizard with you,” Dudley answered. “The spell on the Leaky Cauldron only works on muggles if they don’t have a wizard pointing it out to them. After that, we can see it.”

Harry shook his head. “Okay, so… never mind the how.” He shook his head again. “ _Why_ were you in Diagon Alley? What on Earth would you be doing in a wizard neighborhood?”

“Shopping,” Dudley answered. “I worked there, for a while. Flourish and Blotts. They didn’t mind so much that I was a muggle, as long as I knew how to receive book orders.”

For the longest time, Harry couldn’t seem to speak. He studied Dudley, his mouth hanging open, trying to figure out what to make of him. Dudley wondered what his boyfriend was doing, and if it wouldn’t be too crazy to text him and beg for him to just apparate over if it wasn’t too much trouble.

Before Dudley could consider actually reaching for his phone, Harry blinked. “You hate wizards,” he said, which sounded halfway between a question and a statement. “You _hate_ magic. You’ve always hated it.”

“ _No_ ,” Dudley said firmly. “I never hated magic. I mean, well. I did. But it was because I hadn’t thought about it. It was all my parents. And, of course, my first encounter with wizards didn’t go so well…”

Both of them recalled Dudley’s unfortunate mishap with the end of Hagrid’s umbrella, and – a little while later – a scalpel. Dudley shuddered at the thought.

“So… what’s happened now, then?” Harry sipped his tea. “You’ve changed your mind?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Dudley shrugged. “I met someone,” he said.

There must have been something in his voice, some hint of affection, because Harry’s eyebrows went up. “A friend type someone?” he asked. “Or a more-than-friend type someone?”

“Definitely the latter,” Dudley said, and watched in amusement as Harry blinked disbelievingly at Dudley’s ability to use a word as complicated as “latter.”

“So you’re telling me…” Harry could hardly contain his amused grin. “…that you’re _dating_ a witch?”

Oh god, there it was. He’d hoped Harry wouldn’t be like his parents, always assuming what they wanted to assume. A _witch._ Was this just the default setting that everyone went to unless you were really, outrageously gay-looking? Or was there something about him in particular that made everyone think that he liked women?

While Harry waited in yet another uncomfortable silence, Dudley wondered what to say. He figured he might as well get it out. It wasn’t like Harry was the type to mind about that sort of thing, anyway.

“Well, not exactly.” He took a deep breath. “More of a wizard, really.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“His name’s Clarence,” Dudley added. “Big fan of yours, obviously. He asked me to say hi for him.”

Harry coughed.

“A _wizard?”_ he repeated.

Dudley’s heart sank. “Yes.”

“Oh wow.” Harry laughed again, which was better than the staring. “I can’t believe it. After all the years of hating magic, now you’re dating a wizard.”

Dudley’s chest instantly released its tension. So it was the _magic_ part that Harry found absurd – that was a relief.

“Yeah,” Dudley said, laughing a bit with him because honestly, it really was sort of ridiculous. “I used to be scared shitless of even the mention of spells – now my boyfriend does our laundry with magic. How’s that for a twist?”

“Certainly not one I was expecting,” Harry chuckled.

“Then you’ll be even more surprised to know that I’ve learned a bit myself.” After the bits of laughter, Dudley found himself gaining more courage than he thought he had.

“No, really?”

“Yeah. There _are_ certain things muggles can do, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Potions, mostly. Anyone can throw things into a pot. It’s a lot like cooking. And divination too, obviously. I love reading Clare’s tealeaves. It seems I’ve got a knack for it. All of my predictions have come true so far.”

“Really? I never could get the hang of that divination stuff.” Harry shook his head, grinning. “Hermione especially hated it. She could barely stand that class. I didn’t have too great of a time, either. Our teacher kept telling me I was going to die some awful death.”

“God, that sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, it was. That class was bloody rubbish.” He stared at his tea for a moment, drifting off into some past memory. “I did come to like the teacher, though. Professor Trelawny. I didn’t like her much while I was her student, but after that she sort of grew on me.”

“I didn’t like _any_ of my teachers at Smeltings,” Dudley sighed. “Sounds like you were having a much nicer time than I was.”

Harry went quiet again. Dudley thought about all the things he didn’t know about Harry’s life, and the things he’d just now learned. Harry was working as an auror? He was married? What else had he done in these years that Dudley didn’t know about?

“So, tell me about this Clarence of yours,” Harry said finally.

Dudley blushed. He hadn’t expected Harry to inquire further into the business. “He’s a librarian,” he said.

“In a wizard or muggle library?”

“Muggle. That’s where I met him. I was checking out a book.”

Harry laughed again. Just one short, quiet blast. _Ha._ “You used to hate libraries. You said they were boring.”

“Yeah, well.” Dudley shrugged. “There were a lot of things I used to say.”

“If I remember correctly,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow, “which I’m pretty sure I do, you used to have an awful lot of nasty things to say about same-sex couples, too.”

Dudley turned slightly pale. He hated thinking about this. “Er, yes. I did. Well.”

“That was your parent’s doing, too, then?”

“Partially.” Dudley sighed. “Partially my own. I was afraid and so I bullied everyone else. You understand that now, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“I knew I was gay a long time ago. Before you even went to Hogwarts. At least, I was wondering, back then.”

“Wow.” Harry’s eyebrows went up. “That’s… a long time. And you kept it a secret for that long?”

“Clare was the first person I ever told.”

“Not anyone else before that?”

“Not a soul.”

“Wow,” Harry said again. “And… what about…”

 _…my parents?_ Dudley finished in his head. He grit his teeth. “They don’t know.”

“Are you ever going to tell them?”

“I’ll have to,” Dudley answered. “Clare and I live together now. They’re going to find out eventually. I’m much more concerned about how they’ll react to the whole magic thing, honestly.”

“And what about everything else? The teaching and everything? How do they feel about that?”

“Oh, they hate it.” Dudley laughed scornfully. “Dad wants to strangle me and Mum wants to cry every time she thinks about it.”

“But you really love it, don’t you?”

Dudley nodded. “It’s what I’ve wanted to do for years. It’s wonderful.”

“That’s really… wow.” Harry looked as though he was about to say something else, but his phone chirped in his pocket. He gave Dudley an apologetic look and took it out.

“Oh, shit,” he exclaimed suddenly. He stood so violently the table shook. “Dudley, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. The baby set our living room on fire.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah. Our son, James. He’s always setting things on fire.”

Dudley’s heart fluttered for a reason he can’t put his finger on. _He has a son._ “James?” he asked. “Like your dad?”

Harry looked at him, and Dudley could see his face softening in a way it hadn’t yet, during the time they’d spent together talking. “Yeah,” he said, quietly. “Like my dad.”

He looked for a moment more, before waving goodbye and leaving without another word. Dudley was glad for it. At the moment, there was nothing more to be said.

•••

“How did it go?” Clare asked once Dudley strode back in through the door.

Dudley answered by smiling.

•••

This time, Dudley had set up their meeting through text. While owls were excellent for a lot of things, arranging events wasn’t one of them.

Harry had chosen the spot. It was a small restaurant near the back of Diagon Alley that people rarely went to, but – Harry told him – had really excellent pasties.

Dudley was grateful for any excuse to go to Diagon Alley. He normally went for books and potion ingredients, but couldn’t go that often, since he needed to bring Clare with him to get in (god damn Muggle protection). This time, Dudley waited for Harry in the Leaky Cauldron.

It was the first meeting since the one in the café, but they’d been talking a bit since. They had exchanged a few letters, and Harry had given Dudley his number at one point, so they had texted a bit, too. They’d caught up with each other. Dudley learned that Harry had two children and another one on the way, and that his two other friends that Dudley remembered (Hermione and Ron) were off and married and had children of their own. Dudley told him about his time at University, and his job at Flourish and Blotts, and his current teaching job. Harry told him about Ginny (she sounded lovely) and Dudley told him about Clarence (Harry said he sounded lovely).

Still, though, Dudley was nervous. How could he not be, after what happened with his parents last week? He hadn’t heard a word from either of them since, and didn’t want to. He was too afraid of what those words might be.

Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron, and instantly everyone stood.

“Oy, it’s Mr. Harry Potter!” the bartender shouted, and everyone else started shouting happily too, and Dudley watched in amusement as Harry had to shake around fifty hands and excuse himself numerous times in order to make it across the room to Dudley.

By the time he got over, Dudley was laughing. “Holy shit.”

Harry grimaced. “I know.”

“I mean, god, I knew you were famous, but this is ridiculous.”

“If I thought I was famous _before_ I killed Voldemort, well…” Harry sighed. “It’s pretty hard just to live my life sometimes.”

Dudley motions to the back door leading towards the brick wall entrance, and Harry follows, still talking. “I honestly don’t come here all that much anymore.” He taps on the brick with his wand and the archway opens up. They step through and begin the journey down Diagon Alley. “At least in muggle neighborhoods, people don’t know who I am. But I thought… well, if you really want to know why I said we should meet here, it’s just because I knew I couldn’t believe the thought of you being in Diagon Alley until I’d seen it with my own eyes.”

Dudley chuckled good-naturedly. As they passed the bookstore, he caught the eye of one of the employees (Esmerelda, she was called) and waved. She waved back, grinning. They’d done a lot of jobs together when he still worked there. Dudley still visited often, and they always had the loveliest chats.

“You really worked there?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

Dudley just shrugged and said nothing. There was still a part of him that shook inside. He just couldn’t get rid of the awful feeling underneath his skin that his parents had left last week.

“How are things going, these days?” Dudley asked. “With the kids and everything?”

“Oh, with the kids? Fantastic.” Harry gave him a little smile. Things were still awkward between them, obviously, but they’d grown into a comfortable familiarity that at least allowed them to exchange small talk without much difficulty. “Honestly, starting a family is the best thing that could have happened to my life.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” They reached the shop they were heading for and went in. A waitress sat them at a table and they both ordered butterbeers and pumpkin pasties (extra pumpkin on the side for Harry). “See,” he continued, “after the battle and everything, I just… well, I got really depressed for a while. I just didn’t know what to do with myself. My whole life up ‘til that point had been about defeating Voldemort, and then… well, then I’d done it. There was nothing left for me to do.

“Ginny understood. She’d had a personal vendetta against him ever since he almost killed her in her first year. When we got married, I think we both realized that we had a chance, then, to make our lives whatever we wanted. So we decided we wanted to be Aurors, and parents, and now that’s what we are, and it’s getting better.”

Dudley was stunned. He had to admit: he had never thought about what it must have been like for Harry after the war. He had always assumed that Harry would be off doing something wonderful, amazing, magical, while he was still slogging his way through muggle school and trying to please his parents. He had never considered that Harry might have been having as hard a time as he was.

“And… what about you?” The waitress came with their drinks, and Harry took a long sip. “How is everything?”

 _Fine. Amazing. Terrible. Everything?_ Dudley didn’t know where to start.

“I told my parents,” he said. “About Clarence.”

Harry stared, solemn. “How’d they take it?”

“It couldn’t have possibly gone any worse.”

Dudley put his head in his hands. Harry swallowed awkwardly. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “That’s… that’s hard.”

“Yeah.” Dudley sighed. “Didn’t really help that Clarence slipped up and let on that he was a wizard halfway through.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “God.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Can’t imagine that went over well.”

“Remember how mad Vernon was at you when you accidentally blew up Aunt Marge?” Dudley asked. “Well, it was a bit like that, except he was redder.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah.”

They went silent for a while. The waitress brought their pasties and they each gave her a few sickles, and Dudley decided he’d rather not think about his parents anymore.

“It’s not all going bad,” he said, scratching his neck. “There’s actually, well. I mean, there’s something else going on in my life right now that’s pretty nice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

Dudley closed his eyes for a second, remembering Clarence’s face that day – remembering the moment when he said _yes._ “Well, I’m getting married.”

Harry choked on his pasty. He coughed for a few seconds, downed his hacking with a swig of butterbeer, and looked back up with the beginnings of a grin. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I proposed to him last week. Said yes, of course.”

“Dudley, that’s…” Harry shook his head, grinning wildly. “That’s _amazing._ ”

“Bit terrifying, too.”

“Oh god, I know the feeling. I was engaged too once, remember?”

“But mostly it’s just brilliant.” Dudley was smiling, and maybe blushing a bit, although he couldn’t tell. “I told my students I was getting married and they’re all so excited about it. All my coworkers, too. It’s like the first time in my life everyone around me’s been happy for me.”

“I’m happy for you, too,” Harry said, and Dudley blinked, because that was the first time Harry had said anything like that in all the months they’d been talking. Dudley could tell that he meant it. _He’s happy for me._

“Harry…” Dudley flicked a crumb off the table, suddenly unsure of himself. This was the thing he’s been meaning to ask Harry (the entire reason he planned this get-together) but he never knew how his cousin would respond. He figured he’d better just get it out. “Would you… come to my wedding?”

Silence fell again. Harry looked only slightly stunned – mostly just confused – and Dudley swallowed. He had never been sure where they stood these days. Sure, they talked and didn’t seem to hate each other anymore… but would Harry even want to come?

“You…” Harry blinked and looked down. “You want me there?”

That took Dudley by surprise. “Of course I want you there. You’re family.”

Harry made a weird choking noise, which was pretty awkward sounding, but accurately encompassed what Dudley was feeling at the moment.

“What about your parents?” Harry asked. “They’re family too.”

Dudley shut his eyes. “No they’re not. Not anymore, they’re not.”

“But you… really want me to come.”

“Yeah.” Dudley tried to look inviting (he didn’t really know how that should look). “Bring your whole family, if you want. They’re all invited. And those friends of yours, Ron and Hermione, right? I’d like to meet them. They could come too, if they wanted.”

Harry stared at his drink for a few long seconds. Dudley started to panic. When he realized Harry was shaking gently, he started to panic more.

Then Harry looked up, and Dudley realized that what he’d thought was crying was just soft, silent laughter.

“We’ll be there,” Harry said, and his eyes were tired and bagged and his lips were thin but his face was soft and Dudley hadn’t ever seen that look directed at him before, not once in his life, not from Harry Potter, and suddenly things seemed a bit better. “We’ll _all_ be there, Dudley. I promise.”

Years disappeared in seconds.

•••

Dudley had said he was going to be home around noon, but Clarence figured he’d probably be later. It didn’t matter. They both had the day off, so Clarence was just doing housework and some light reading until his fiancée came back from the shopping.

After switching out loads of laundry (Dudley insisted that the washing machine did it far better than Clarence’s spells ever could) the doorbell rang. As Clarence walked over to get it, he wondered which salesperson or charity collector it would be today. He opened the door.

Petunia Dursley grimaced nervously.

Clarence froze. For far too long a time, both of them were still, staring at the other as if either one of them might explode. Clarence’s hand inched back towards the wand in his pocket.

Then Petunia said, “Is Dudley home?”

Clarence shook himself out of his statue state. “Er. Not. Not… yet. No. He’s out.”

“Oh.” Petunia turned as if to leave, but changed her mind and turned back. She seemed almost terrified of Clarence, but it wasn’t the type of terror he would have expected. It was a guilty kind of terror – the kind when your teacher’s about to find out that you didn’t actually do your homework last night. “When will he get back?” she asked.

Still stunned, Clarence looked at his watch. “Um. Any minute now, I think.”

“Do you…” Petunia sighed and put her head in her hand, blinking fast. “I don’t suppose you… would you mind if I waited for him here?”

Stunned as he was, Clarence was far too polite to say no.

“I… suppose so.” He blinked too quickly, making his eyes water, and stepped back to allow Dudley’s mother to walk into their living room.

She stood awkwardly, fidgeting far too much. She looked as if she might be sick. “Do you mind if I…”

“No, no, go ahead. Please sit down.” Clarence nodded at the couch, and she sat. Suddenly, he was immensely glad that he had spent the entire morning cleaning.

Petunia sat.

The clock ticked from the hallway and neither one of them moved. Clarence coughed, and Petunia jumped as if there had been a gunshot. She glanced at him and quickly looked away. They went back to being still.

“I’ll, er…” Clarence fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “I’ll send him a text. See when he’ll be back.”

Petunia eyed him. “I didn’t know you used phones.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow. “Me, personally?”

She pursed her lips. “Wizards.”

Clarence opened his mouth and shut it again. “Yeah, of course we do.” She had said the word in this strange way, as if it ought to taste bad in her mouth, but didn’t. It was akin to someone trying broccoli for the first time after avoiding it all their childhood and finding that it wasn’t so bad after all.

He sent Dudley a text. Petunia watched his every move.

He cleared his throat again. “Would you, um, like, er, something to drink, perhaps?”

She seemed surprised at the offer. “I. Yes, please.”

Clarence went to the kitchen, still in a daze. Absentmindedly, he flicked his wand and sent the water pitcher floating over to a clean glass. As the water poured, he realized that he was still standing in full view of Mrs. Dursely, whose face was contorted into a strange expression incorporating a slightly open mouth and a clenched jaw. He swallowed and grabbed the glass out of the air, bringing it over to where she sat.

“There you go,” he said, and sat back in one of the other chairs without realizing that he had done it.

She paused for a long time, staring at the glass as if it might sprout wings. “Thank you, Cl… Cl…”

“Clarence.”

“Yes.” She took a timid sip.

Clarence watched her.

She said, “What is it you do?”

His pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected this – was this the beginning of a conversation? Was she interrogating him? “I’m a librarian,” he said.

Petunia raised an eyebrow. “A… librarian?”

“Yes.”

She kept her eyebrow raised. “At some… some wizard library, I presume.”

“No, I work at the London Library.”

Petunia studied him in the same, silent way she’d been doing. Clarence couldn’t tell for the life of him what she was thinking.

“And how did you…” She paused, taking a breath. “How did you meet Dudley?”

Clarence was awfully fond of the memory. “He was at the library. I checked him out.”

Petunia’s lip curled.

“I check out _his book_ ,” he clarified.

Her face returned to normal. She took another sip of water. “And… how did you start… well.”

“Going out?”

“That. Yes.”

“Well.” Clare took his hand off his wand, finally accepting that Petunia wasn’t about to suddenly attack him. “He came to the library very often. We became good friends. After a while, I dunno… we both fancied each other so we went on a date, and then another one, and we both liked it quite a bit so we kept it up. Then after a couple years-ish we moved into together, and a year after that Dudley asked me to marry him. There isn’t a whole lot of a story to tell about it.”

Petunia’s forehead creased, and she seemed lost for words. “That’s all?”

“Well, yeah.”

“There’s… nothing else that happened?”

“Well… not really?”

“But…” Petunia stuttered. “But it’s so… so… _ordinary_.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting it to be?”

“I don’t know.” She put her head in her hands. Clarence couldn’t see her face. “I don’t know. I expected it to be… something.”

“Weird?” Clarence suggested. “Dark homosexual magic mating rituals?”

“I…”

“Well, it really wasn’t.” Clarence didn’t know what to make of her. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re just your average boring couple, really.”

“But how…” Petunia shook her head. “How could you do it? How did you make him… make him…”

Something clicks. “Make him _gay_?” Clarence finished.

She flinched at the sound of the word.

“Mrs. Dursley, you need to understand something.” Clarence was surprised at the edge in his voice. “I didn’t _make_ him anything. Dudley has always been gay. If you and your husband blinded yourselves to that for all these years, then that’s your problem.” Her head sunk further into her hands. “Trust me, your son was in relationships with a lot of men before he was ever in love with me.”

She let out a small noise that Clarence couldn’t name, but sounded borderline miserable. When she picked up her head, he was horrified to see that her eyes had turned red and watery.

“Why did he never tell me?” she whispered, hoarse.

Clarence couldn’t speak for a moment. “He was afraid,” he said. The edge still hadn’t gone out of his voice. This was the woman who caused the love of his life such pain – how couldn’t he be angry with her? “And I think, if you remember what happened a couple months ago, you can understand _why_ he might have been afraid.”

Petunia choked off a sob.

“My son…” She closed her eyes, and a single tear found its way over her wrinkled cheek. “My own son.”

Clarence was about to retort, but that was when he heard the front door open.

Petunia immediately sat up, wiping the tear from her eye. Clarence shot to his feet as they listened to someone shuffling over the threshold.

“Clarence, you there?” they heard Dudley call. “I could use some help with these groceries.”

Clarence ran to the front hall to see his boyfriend laden down with shopping bags. Dudley put them on the ground and started to turn. “Mind putting these away? I’ve got another load to bring in.”

“Your mother’s here,” Clarence whispered.

Dudley froze.

“What?” he whispered back.

“Sitting room.”

Clarence wished he didn’t have to see the contortion of emotions that passed over Dudley’s face just then.

“Why?” Dudley pleaded.

“She wants to see you.”

Dudley said nothing.

“I’ll get the rest of the groceries,” Clarence whispered. “If anything goes wrong… well, you know how the protection charms work. I won’t be too far away.”

Clarence gave him a quick kiss and disappeared out the front door.

Dudley was left alone.

After swallowing so much of his own saliva that he started to feel nauseous (or maybe it really was just the nerves) he made his way to the sitting room. His mother was sitting there.

He stood in the doorway. He said nothing.

“Dudley,” his mother said.

“Mum,” he answered.

She watched him, and he tried to read her face. He couldn’t.

“Would you… sit, Dudley?” She gestured at the chair across from her.

He bit his lip, stared at her for a moment, and sat gingerly.

“Dudley…”

He said nothing.

She pursed her lip. He had never seen her look so desperate. “I’ve been talking with… with your fiancée,” she said finally.

Dudley raised an eyebrow. “You were talking with Clarence?”

“Yes.”

“What did you talk about?”

“He told me… about how you met.”

Dudley watched her. “And…?”

“And… that you’ve been with a lot of men before you were with him.”

Dudley’s breath caught in his throat.

“Have you, Dudley?” He was horrified to hear her voice breaking.

“Yes,” he answered. His hand clenched into a fist. “And if you’ve come here to tell me how disgusting you think that is, then–”

“You never _told_ me.”

Dudley stared. “What?”

His mother looked broken. She looked as if a giant pair of hands had wrung her like a towel and smashed her onto the ground. “You were… this was a part of you for so long, and you never told me.”

He swallowed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t take it so _well_ , Mum, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s exactly what happened when–”

“I made you afraid,” she continued, and this time she really was crying. Dudley watched a stream of tears make their way down her cheeks. “Oh, god, Dudley. I did this to you. I was so unaccepting of who you were, you had to hide from me. My own son. It’s my fault you had to lie to me, my fault, oh god it’s all my fault.”

She let go of everything. Dudley had always thought of his mother as relatively well-composed, so it was more than a bit disturbing to see her completely break down. But she did, and Dudley watched as she poured out salty torrents into her hands.

“Mum…” he said, but couldn’t finish. His brain couldn’t register what was happening.

“My son,” she choked out again. “Dudley. Dudley, my baby boy, I am _so sorry._ ”

Suddenly, Dudley understood what was happening.

Before he even told his body to move, he had crossed the room and seated himself next to her. She collapsed into his shoulder, and he let him. Her shuddering sobs vibrated through him.

“Really?” he whispered.

Petunia choked back her last sobs and sniffed. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t mean it.”

This was true. As she recovered, he picked up an arm and put it around her shoulder. She felt so small and frail underneath his muscled arms. He could hardly believe this woman was his mother.

She sniffed for a while more. Dudley stared at the carpet, heart racing. _She apologized._ For the first time in the months since the altercation had happened, he allowed himself to feel hope.

Then she said, “I left Vernon.”

Dudley stared at her. “What?”

“It started after you… after, you know.” She sat up, straightening herself. “Vernon never wanted to see you again. He’d get mad at me if I even mentioned you. He said you were a disappointment. I didn’t think so, though.”

“You didn’t?”

She looked at Dudley, and she looked so heartbroken he didn’t know what to do. “I never thought you were a disappointment.”

His heart fluttered. “What… what happened?”

“We started fighting. We’d been fighting for a long time, of course, but things got so much worse. I still loved you and I couldn’t believe the things he was saying about you. He called you some awful things, Dudley.” She saw the look on his face. “Don’t ask me to repeat them.”

“I won’t.”

“Anyway.” She sniffed again. “I didn’t know what to do. I loved you so much, and I realized that I must have been wrong about something. I had never trusted you to make your own decisions, but I thought… I thought maybe it was time I did.

“So one day, I told him that if you weren’t going to be his son anymore, then I wasn’t going to be his wife anymore either.”

Dudley blinked. “What did he say?”

“He argued, at first.” She shook her head. “He wanted me to stay and hate you with him. But it was a long time coming. Our relationship has been falling apart almost since it began. I’m glad to be rid of him.”

Dudley felt his throat closing as tears threatened to overwhelm him. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder, and she smiled timidly.

“So you don’t hate me?” he asked.

“How could I?” she answered.

They fell into silence. Dudley could hear Clarence around the corner, putting the groceries away. He never thought he’d get to see something like this: mother in one room, boyfriend in the other. It was extraordinary.

He thought there was something he ought to say.

“June twentieth,” he said. “If you’d like to come.”

Petunia raised an eyebrow.

“The wedding,” he clarified.

She let out a small sound he couldn’t name, and her face went soft.

“You’d want me there?” she asked.

Dudley closed his eyes and let the breath come through his teeth. “I want you there,” he answered.

He had never seen his mother look so happy.

•••

Dudley had heard before from an assortment of other couples that the real point at which you feel _married_ wasn’t usually the vows. As Clarence took his arm and they walked back down the aisle between all the folding chairs spread over the lawn, he could see what they meant. He was thrilled, and Clarence seemed equally thrilled, and everyone was cheering and that was wonderful, but it was true – he didn’t feel married. It was as if his brain hadn’t fully registered that Clarence’s status had shifted from boyfriend to husband yet. He wondered when that point would be, and eagerly awaited it.

They posed for pictures and everyone threw confetti, and of course they had invited a good amount of people (god, Clare’s family was huge), but Dudley hadn’t been able to picture in his mind yet just how many people were there. He looked around in awe as the photographer shot him with Clare, and with the best man, and so on and so forth, completely amazed at how many people had shown up to celebrate them.

There were the customary introductions as the reception began. Parents meeting parents, friends meeting friends, and cousins meeting cousins. Harry had been true to his word – he had brought his wife and all three of his children, along with Ron, Hermione, and all of their kids. They all seemed chuffed to meet Dudley (Hermione and Clarence seemed to get on particularly well).

Petunia was in tears for the entire ceremony and spent much of the reception crying out things like “My little Duddy-kins!” which Dudley didn’t mind at all. For the first time in his life, he didn’t find it embarrassing. Quite the opposite.

Many of both Dudley’s and Clare’s co-workers were present, which was also nice. Sally Gardner, a third-year teacher, got especially tipsy during the reception and had to be escorted off the dance floor before she did something rash. Clare’s boss, they discovered, was a truly excellent break-dancer.

The food was slightly sub-par and the settings were underwhelming, but the band was great and everyone at least seemed to be having a nice time. No amount of wedding planning could have prepared Dudley for how much he enjoyed himself that night. Wizards and muggles all celebrated his marriage under the same tent. Harry’s children met their great aunt for the first time. Hermione and Clare exchanged numbers, and Dudley discovered that he and Ron shared a favorite quidditch team.

Dudley was in a daze through it all. He kept waiting for the feeling of marriage to hit him, but all through the eating/dancing/drinking/chatting, the moment never happened.

It came a week later. They were making arrangements for the honeymoon (highly boring arrangements) when Dudley looked at Clarence and Clarence looked at Dudley and both of them thought, exactly at the same moment, _oh god, this man is my husband._

Dudley dropped the bag of toiletries he was packing into their suitcase. He stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor and grabbed onto Clare’s shirt. Clare wrapped his arms around his shoulders and Dudley buried his face into his neck.

Emotion overwhelmed him. It was the feeling of crossing a threshold and finally stumbling onto the other side; the feeling of _at long last._ It wasn’t just the transition from single to married that hit him just then, but the transition from _everything_ to _everything else_. He was moving forward.

As Dudley held on, gripping ‘til his knuckles turned pink, Clarence hummed a song Dudley hadn’t heard in a while. He let himself fall into it. It felt like he’d been holding his breath all his life and was finally letting it out.

•

“I did it,” he sighed. And he had.

_Grow the roses! Grow the roses!_

_Grow the roses of success! Oh yes!_

_Grow the roses! Grow the roses!_

_From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
